Barton And Banner Go To Alaska
by Lou-deadfroggy
Summary: Bruce asks Clint to join him on a trip to the arctic. Weren't reunions meant to be fun? A collaboration between Strawberrywaltz and Lou-Deadfroggy.
1. Chapter 1

**Barton And Banner Go To Alaska**

… …

**This is the second of (hopefully) several collaborations with the wonderful Strawberrywaltz (points at list of her stories and orders you to read them). The first is posted on her profile (Barton And Banner Walk Into A Bar, see what we did there?). This is complete and I'll post every other day.**

**Strawberrywaltz A/N: Hey guys! This is our second story. Face it, it's epic**

… …

Bruce felt like he was drowning. Piles of papers, files and notes towered over him, threatening to collapse at any moment. He was normally a neat person, keeping the lab Tony had assigned to him nearly spotless. However he had been trying to pack and in doing so had unleashed huge tsunamis of research that now flooded the room, spilling over the tables and boxes.

All he had wanted to find was everything he had written about the radiation anomaly that was the northern lights. He hadn't realized exactly how much work he had done since moving into the Avengers' Tower.

A week before he had received an email inviting him to visit the North Alaska Astronomical Research Plant, an email he had replied to then promptly forgotten about. Now he was expected there in less than forty-eight hours and was in a slight panic. His suitcase was packed, that had been simple enough since he didn't exactly need much to live off of but his notes were taking longer.

All the scene needed was a smashed wall and it would look like the other guy had been in the labs instead of Bruce. The place really was a mess.

Finally, after several hours of sorting through and realizing that he did indeed have scruffy writing (a requirement of being a doctor) he had gathered enough notes together to not look like an idiot when he got to Alaska.

There was only one thing left to do: find a way of getting to Alaska.

Flying was not one of his many skills and any commercial plane would probably not get him to the middle of Gates of the Arctic National Park by the next day. He decided he would have to ask Tony if he could borrow his jet and a pilot.

Bruce stared around at the tidal wave of paper and shrugged. He would sort it out when he came back. Just as he was about to open the door and begin his search for Tony it opened automatically and a slightly harassed Clint ran in, shutting it very quickly behind him. Bruce raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"Do I want to know what just happened or not?"

… …

Clint looked up, his back still resting against the closed door. He was pretty sure he had lost Tony at some point between the garage and the kitchen, but one could never be too careful.

Short of climbing up into the vents, Bruce's lab seemed like a good place to hide from the billionaire. Thankfully Jarvis was on Clint's side and had promised not to disclose his location to his creator.

"Probably not." Clint told Bruce with a weak smile. "Tony developed some new arrows for me to try out and I'd rather not lose my hand today – or any other day."

It wasn't that Barton had no faith in Tony's scientific abilities, the guy had created his own superhero suit, but Clint preferred making his own trick arrows. The last time SHIELD issued someone else to create a new brand of arrow for Clint's arsenal, he had ended up being electrocuted.

It hadn't been a fun experience.

"I just need a place to hide until Tony loses interest in his new project." Slowly Barton moved from the door with a glance around the disaster of a room.

"Sorry to have to tell you this, Bruce, but it looks like the Hulk played with your lab." He commented with a light chuckle. "What's going on? Spring cleaning?"

… …

"I was looking for a piece of paper," Bruce said slowly, grinning like an innocent Cheshire cat. "I'm off to a research facility in Alaska for a week and I was just looking for some notes I made. I, uh yeah, guess I found them." He gestured to the mess around him.

"Turns out I'm solely responsible for the deforestation of the Amazon." Moving round the laden desks he picked up a stack of files so that Clint could do more than press himself against the door. He did consider finding the man a chair but he couldn't see them anymore.

"Hey, if you want to get a break from Tony you could always come with me. It's a bit cold but no genius billionaire whatever else he says to blow your hands off," he suggested.

Okay so maybe their last outing together hadn't gone so well but there wasn't much chance of drunken fights in a research facility on the edge of the arctic, was there? Besides, Bruce would rather have the company of someone he knew who could get him out of a potential other guy encounter, something he was sure wouldn't happen yet wasn't willing to risk. It beat spending the plane ride with a random pilot.

"We can do many things but neither the other guy nor I can fly a plane."

… …

Clint smirked a bit and folded his arms over his chest as he listened to Bruce's explanation of the mess. His ears perked up at the offer to get away from the Tower for a while. It had been a while since he'd left. Fury was still unconvinced that he was mentally ready to return into the field for solo missions.

Honestly Barton wasn't sure he was ready to go out yet either. The idea of someone else's voice talking through the comm. link, someone other than Coulson, still didn't feel right. He hid it well, but the loss of his handler, his best friend, had shaken the archer.

Since Natasha was out on a mission, it most likely meant the archer would be stuck in the city until she returned. The idea of getting away for a bit was very enticing.

Plus with all the trouble the Avengers seemed to get themselves into, Bruce going somewhere alone didn't seem like a smart thing.

"I can deal with the cold." Clint grinned. Sure their last outing had gone to hell, but that didn't mean that a simple trip to the artic would end in disaster. It could be good, relaxing even.

"And you're in luck. Along with my many talents I also have my pilot's license." Clint opened the door and peeked out cautiously as he scanned for any sign of Tony.

"I think you should probably ask Stark for his jet, I don't think he'd appreciate you taking his fun – his fun being me – away. Just tell him you've got a SHIELD pilot taking you. It won't be a lie."

Barton smirked back at Bruce before he stepped towards one of the vents in the room and pulled himself up. No reason to risk being seen. "I'll go grab my bag and meet you at the hanger."

… …

Bruce rolled his eyes as he spied the Hawk disappearing into the vents. He was slightly jealous of the man's ability to be in small spaces. Picking up the file containing his notes the doctor went off to find Stark, hoping that for once the man would not want him to give a detailed analysis of his latest project.

There was only really one place Tony would be at three in the afternoon: his lab. Bruce wandered towards the larger, and for the first time ever, neater room.

"Hey, Tony?" he called, having learnt that just walking in usually got your head almost blown off. He had to repeat his question several times before Stark heard him.

"Yeah?" came the grunted response. Bruce peeked past the door to see Tony covered in foam and glaring at a robot. He wasn't in a good mood. "I'm busy, Barton did a runner and I tried to track him down but it didn't work." Bruce didn't really want to know how tracking Clint translated into Tony being covered in foam.

"Right. Do you mind if I borrow your jet? I've been asked to look over some research up in Alaska." Tony began to wipe the foam off of his limbs, nodding vaguely.

"Yeah, sure whatever. Get someone to take you or something." Bruce was out of there before Tony could finish talking. Five minutes later he had grabbed his bag and coat and was half-way to the hanger.

"Going somewhere, Doctor Banner?" Pepper asked as he nearly walked into her coming round a corner. Ever the courteous PA she was still uncomfortably formal with the whole team.

"Uh, yes. A research facility in Alaska. You can call me Bruce, you know," he answered, stepping back out of her way.

"Well, see you when you get back, Bruce." She walked off and he was in the hanger before he could run into Steve, who wasn't even in the tower anyway, or Natasha.

When he reached the plane he looked around for Clint, not really sure how to get into the metal thing. He would have preferred driving but Alaska was a bit far to reach in a day.

There was no sign of the Hawk, either in the plane or outside so Bruce put his bag on the ground and tried not to think about the hours in a small metal tube thousands of feet up in the air. At least Clint wouldn't stress him out.

"Okay, either you're here and about to try and make me jump like Stark does or I'm talking to myself," Bruce said out loud.

… …

The trip to his room didn't take Barton very long. His bags were always packed, ready for last minute departures. That was just how his job worked. Clint had two duffle bags, one packed for warm weather and the other packed for cold.

Though the bags were identical in size and appearance, Clint knew the heavier one was his winter attire. Without checking he grabbed the heaviest bag and slipped the strap on his shoulder and headed for the hanger.

Carefully he made his way. Silently he walked, carefully checking reflective surfaces for any sign of a disgruntled billionaire near him. Thankfully Tony seemed to have given up, or Banner was distracting Stark with the question of the jet.

Once in the hanger Clint inspected the plane, a habit instilled in the SHIELD agent thanks years of obeying protocol. Everything looked good on the plane, but then again Stark spent more time on his machines then interacting with people. They were always in good shape, if not excellent.

Banner still hadn't shown up and Clint was never one to sit still very long, at least not off mission. After discarding his bag inside the plane Barton decided to entertain himself by crawling up into the rafters.

For most people Clint's obsession with heights was odd, but their opinions on the matter didn't mean much to him. He saw things better from a distance and preferred the freedom height gave him.

Once up there Clint practiced a few very simplistic balance techniques, only to stop when Bruce waltzed in. At first Barton was just going to jump down beside the man, but then he considered that startling Bruce might not be the best idea.

"Okay, either you're here and about to try and make me jump like Stark does or I'm talking to myself," Bruce said out loud.

Clint chuckled slightly. "I'm trying to figure out how not to startle you, actually." His voice floated down to his teammate as he swung his body over the ledge and jumped down to meet with Bruce. "Although, I think the other guy likes me, so if you want to go green you can." The archer winked and then waved Banner to follow him to the readied plane.

… …

Bruce sighed and followed Clint into the aircraft. He hated it when people said that to him, Tony did it all the time. Yes it was true that the other guy had saved Stark's life but they all put too much faith in the other guy's ability to not kill people. For all he knew Tony had been the only exception, besides Betty of course, to the Hulk's immediate response: smash.

"I don't think want is ever the right word. Need to, maybe, but never want," he muttered even though he knew that Clint would almost certainly be able to hear him. 'Going green' as Clint put it wasn't fun, it hurt like hell without even considering the damage he caused. Bruce could only think of two times when he was glad the other guy had been there and both of them involved saving someone special. That still didn't make up for the red on his file though, even if Tony sometimes made it sound like it did.

He put his bag on a seat and poked a curious head into the cockpit.

"Just to warn you, we've already established that flying metal containers don't mix with the other guy to well," he said. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Of course they both knew that the only time the other guy would make an appearance would be to save Bruce's life in which case Clint would be about to die anyway and no green rage monster could make a difference. Bruce realized that he had never been in the cockpit of a plane before and looked around that the buttons with the same uncomprehending gaze that most people often gave his papers.

"Mind if an excited little boy sits in the front like a cool person?" he asked, grinning.

… …

"Don't worry, Doc, even if we do crash – which is extremely unlikely – I promise it'll be as smooth as possible." Clint grinned at Bruce. "I am happy to report that no one has ever died while I was piloting a craft. The other guy will sleep like a baby." The archer promised with a cocky grin before he flipped a switch and the engines rumbled to life.

At Bruce's question Clint nodded towards the co-pilot's seat. "I'd love the company, kid." Clint snickered at the older man. "Sorry I don't have some plastic wings to give you, but my boss is cheap." Barton tipped his head towards Bruce and smirked. "He's a billionaire, but he's cheap."

After the archer slipped on a headset for communication he flipped a few more switches his hands lightly gripped the controls as the plane backed out of the hanger. "Hold on to your seat, Doc, we'll be in the air shortly."

As promised a few minutes later the plane was up in the air, circling around the city. It was a nice view. Nice and high, Barton loved it. The archer took a deep breath as his muscles relaxed and glanced over at Bruce. "So, I hope you have the coordinates for the research facility? Those might be handy."

… …

Bruce stared at him for a second before turning around to grab his pile of papers.

"Yes, I do. Um here," he said as he handed Clint the print off of the email. It had a list of numbers that the archer punched into the controls.

The view was great, all of New York stretched out beneath them. The last time Bruce had been in a plane it had been to New York with Betty and he had ended up wrecking Harlem.

Being in handcuffs he hadn't exactly had the best view nor had he appreciated the marvel of engineering that kept a plane up. Of course he had been on the helicarrier but that was more of a flying town than a small metal tube. Plus he really hoped that he would break his streak of jumping out of flying machines.

"So did Natasha put you up to socializing again or did she realize that we need supervision?" he asked, smiling slightly. Their little excursion to the bar hadn't ended too well and he suspected that any further fraternizing would be in strictly controlled conditions where the Black Widow could make sure nothing went wrong. Spontaneity and the other guy didn't really go hand in hand, as Clint had found out.

… …

"Ha, no, this wasn't a Natasha sanctioned outing. This honestly is barely a Fury sanctioned outing, I of course called for his approval before I met up with you." Clint chuckled lightly, eyes scanning the skies as they moved slowly towards their chilly destination.

"I'm actually surprised you didn't know this, but Nat's out saving the world on a mission." Barton informed his friend. "Perhaps you should wander out of that lab of yours a bit more often." The archer teased.

Clint felt slightly responsible for the doctor's reclusive lifestyle. After all, he was the idiot that took Bruce to a bar and got him involved in a brawl. Not smart. Granted, Bruce was a major loner before the Avengers became a team. Though it was understandable. It's hard to be around other people when you can't trust yourself.

If anyone could relate to that frame of mind, Clint could. After Loki stole Barton's mind, his control, Clint had lost complete trust in himself. One touché and his own will had changed. Every day after the attack, when his ravaged mind had been handed back to him, Clint would check himself in the mirror; check his eyes for that strange blue colour.

At least Barton's nightmare had ended. Bruce would never get rid of the 'other guy.' Although at least now that Banner was part of the pack of misfit super heroes the Hulk had a purpose. A sense of good.

"And don't worry too much, Natasha would rather I get into trouble with a doctor around than by myself." He shrugged. His partner was a bit too protective, but it was her way of showing she cared.

… …

"That's kind of why I became a doctor, a medical one I mean. Before I was a biophysicist but when I realized how much damage I caused I tried to find a way to at least help with the clean-up." He gave Clint a long look over, a sudden thought coming to him. The archer had just as many problems as he did yet he didn't mention them every time he opened his mouth.

It occurred to Bruce that he didn't even know how Clint was dealing with what had happened with Loki and he hadn't even asked. He didn't really want to ask about something that would upset the archer and ruin the light-hearted banter they had going. Bruce needed to prove to himself that he could have a conversation rather than just warn people off.

"So did you have to wear something along the lines of what Steve does, when you were in the circus? Somehow I can't see you in spangles," he said, grinning slightly. Really Bruce knew next to nothing about Clint's past apart from his dad had been a drunk and he had run away to the circus.

Thinking of Clint trying to entertain people was funny; he wasn't much of an entertainer or showman. Of course everyone liked to show off their talents and the archer was probably no exception.

Bruce couldn't remember ever going to the circus as a child, his Mom had taken him to a funfair once and he recalled spending hours begging her to let him go on the roller coaster despite him being about three inches too short. He hadn't even thought of running away either, it hadn't occurred to him that there would be somewhere else to go.

… …

Clint's face went blank for a second when Bruce abruptly brought up his past at the circus. It was unexpected and took him completely off guard. Not all his memories at the circus were good ones, in fact most of them were pretty awful, but there was no way for the doctor to know that.

Once his initial shock faded, Barton slipped back into his care free mask. "Uh, not quite like the Cap's uniform." He winked at Bruce. "I would tell you what it looked like, but then I would have to kill you. If Tony were to hear about it I'd never be able to live it down." He chuckled lightly. "Let's just say you'd never be able to guess how embarrassing it was."

Barton hoped silently that Bruce wouldn't read too much into the pause, but the man was a doctor of a bunch of different sciences. It was Banner's job to observe and analysis reactions.

"For the record though." Clint continued, determined to keep the atmosphere light. Bruce had enough angst in his life; Clint didn't need to add any more weight to the doctor's shoulders. "I wasn't the one who picked out my costume. I had little choice in the matter."

… …

Bruce heard the pause and the catch in Clint's voice and mentally kicked himself for bringing up something that was obviously painful. Could he really not have a conversation with someone without hurting them in some way?

"You don't need to worry; no word will get to Tony. Be careful or he'll want to start dressing you up as Legolas or something." He tried to think of something else to talk about, hoping that he could find something that wouldn't upset Clint. Short of asking for a flying lesson he was stuck.

"Going to amaze me with explanations of what all these buttons do? Where's the big red one we should never press under any circumstances?" He examined all of the switches and screens, wondering how difficult it was to fly the thing. He assumed that it was similar to driving but Clint didn't seem to be doing much. Autopilot or something.

"You know, don't tell me or else I may just have to press it." He grinned and hovered a finger over a large red button, having a Stark moment.

… …

Clint smirked a bit. "Press it if you want, but I don't think the 'other guy' would like flying. That's the ejection button." The archer chuckled lightly.

Cheerfully Barton went into an explanation of the different buttons, monitors and basic instructions on flying without crashing. Piloting was one of the few things Clint enjoyed besides archery.

By the end of the explanation Clint decided to try and build some happier memories for Bruce and showed him how to grip the controls and stay on course. Once it looked like the scientist had gotten the hang of things, Barton promptly took a nap.

An hour before they were supposed to land Clint took over the controls again and prepared to descend on the research facility. After confirmation from the research labs' airport control – or the smaller equivalent of it, since they were out in the middle of nowhere. The jet dropped altitude smoothly and slowly emerged below the blanket of cold grey clouds that had formed along their journey.

A strong gust of air caused a bit of turbulence, but Clint road it out as smoothly as possible. He didn't obviously check on Bruce, but he kept his senses open in case the Hulk decided to cause a bit of trouble.

As they slowly circled downward Clint glanced out of his window down at the complex. It was secluded, built on a flat area surrounded by snowy hills filled with trees and scattered frozen lakes. Yep, this was definitely not a place Clint would like to vacation in – or live for that matter. Scientists were a crazy, but passionate. They'd have to be to live somewhere like this, in Clint's professional opinion.

Yes, he could deal with the cold, and it was bearable. But Hawkeye had always been a warm-blooded kind of guy.

Whistling lowly Clint grinned over at Bruce. "You weren't kidding about it being cold, were you?" He joked lightly. It was the end of the winter months in the artic, but clearly a 'warm front' hadn't come through, the snow was still solidly there on the ground.

There were a few buildings scattered around the impressive main research building. Log cabins were the researchers and possibly even the families of the researchers lived. It was a bit like a small community.

Barton lined up Tony's jet to the runway and made their final descent downwards. The runway was covered in ice, which probably was doing nothing to calm Bruce's nerves on the landing, but Clint had things under control.

The landing was incredibly smooth, a gentle touch down and a straight slid that ended in a proper stop. "Thank you for flying Hawkeye Air, please remain seated with your seatbelts securely fastened until the plane has come to a complete stop. Thank you." Clint mocked playfully as he pulled the plane to where a man dressed in orange was directing him.

… …

Bruce rolled his eyes at the announcement but was quite glad that he was firmly on solid ground again. When Clint had decided to doze off he had felt a slight moment of panic but assured himself that the archer wasn't really asleep and he could handle the semi-automatic plane anyway.

Maybe he would go about getting a pilot's license at some point; actually being in control of the craft had been fun. It was just the coming down bit he didn't like so as long as he could stay up in the air, all was well.

"I'm pretty sure most airline captains don't suddenly leave their passengers to fly whilst they catch up on their beauty sleep," he said, grinning. "If you ever decide to get a job that doesn't involve dealing with aliens and Tony Stark you should take up pilot training. I already have a motto for you: fly or fall because I'm not helping."

The doors opened and they stepped out into the biting cold. Bruce pulled on his coat quickly and longed for the warm air on board the plane.

"Arctic, cold, right. Forgot that bit," he muttered as he spied a couple of luminous vests making their way towards him. It really was freezing out there.

"Doctor Banner? We're extremely pleased that you could make it. I'm Edmund Simms and this is my colleague Graham Brent. I suggest we get out of the cold," the older, more rounded man said as he shook Bruce's hand.

They then led their guests into the massive building, picking a way through the half-cleared snow on the path. Bruce frowned slightly as he followed Brent, the name seemed more familiar than just something he had read in a science journal but he couldn't quite place it. He fell into step beside Clint, a few paces behind the other two.

"I don't know what you're going to do for a week since I'm guessing you don't have much of an interest in astrophysics," he said quietly, feeling slightly bad about dragging Clint along. Of course the archer would have nothing to do in the research plant; he could hardly act as an assistant or something.

… …

"Admit it, you had fun." Clint teased Bruce lightly when the man had commented on his training skills. It wasn't actually a far cry from what he did to new SHIELD recruits when Fury demanded he participate in their training.

Training idiots sucked.

So Clint had deviously found a way to entertain himself while training said idiots.

Powering down the plane, Clint did the post-flight checks and noted the amount of fuel still in the plane. They'd need to refuel before leaving in a week. There would be plenty of time to give Tony's jet a bit of TLC while Banner ran around with his science buddies.

Clint reached around and grabbed his bag and pulled out a SHIELD issued coat. It was thinner than normal winter coats but the technology behind it made it just as warm, if not warmer. It also allowed the archer the needed movement for most of his missions.

After hearing Bruce's complaint of the cold Clint grinned and pulled up his hood. "Aw, come on Doc, it's not all that bad." Sure a beach would be better, but a beach wasn't exactly where scientists tended to hang out. Unless, of course, they were oceanographers.

Barton stayed back from the introductions but stepped forward to follow Banner out into the winter wasteland they came too. The cold bit at Clint's unprotected face, but the jacket fended off the majority of the cold.

When Bruce fell in step beside the archer Clint grinned. "Don't worry about me, Doc, I'm fully capable of entertaining myself for a week. This actually reminds me a bit of field training back in my early days at SHIELD. They'd stick us in remote areas and give us coordinates to a place we were supposed to end up and a time frame. I can always train." He winked at his companion.

… …

Bruce was glad that Clint had plans for the week and couldn't really be worried about the man going off into the frozen wild alone. If anyone could take care of himself, it was Clint.

The inside of the building was toasty compared with the outside and Bruce was glad when a cloakroom presented itself. Simms left them with Brent who walked off up some stairs without a word, presumably showing them to their rooms. It still nagged at his mind that the name was so familiar but Bruce couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Brent. He had known a guy called Brent back in New Mexico before the accident, he was sure of it. Had his first name been Graham? He wasn't sure.

Brent was a good bit taller than Bruce and towered over Clint so that both men had to look up slightly to see his long, square-ish face. There was something cold about those dark eyes that Bruce didn't think was connected with the snow outside. The man still hadn't said a word as he opened the door to a small but comfortable bedroom. He crossed the hall to an identical door for Clint.

"The main laboratory is down those stairs and to your right, Doctor Simms will be waiting for you," he muttered as if simply forcing the words out was demeaning. Then it clicked in Bruce's head.

The slight lisp over the letter r that had been caused by a baseball injury. It was then that he noticed the way Brent favoured his left leg, the result of a lab accident. Bruce had been the one who caused both, one due to being a terrible batter and the other, well; he didn't really remember that accident all that clearly: it was the first memory tinged with green.

Brent walked off, leaving Bruce to stare at his retreating form and wishing that he had never received that email.

… …


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

… …

It was odd. Well, several things were odd about this place. At least to Clint. For one none of the scientists seemed particularly chatty or welcoming. Perhaps they knew about Bruce's ultra-ego, but if they were so bothered by the Hulk why would they invite Banner here at all?

It bothered Clint. A lot of things were bothering him, actually. Ever since they were greeted at the plane a sense of something being off had hit the archer's senses. Maybe he'd stay close to Bruce instead of training. If something were to go wrong Barton would need to be around to protect his teammate. Not that the Hulk couldn't take care of himself, but Banner was a different story.

Clint glanced at Bruce as they walked. The way the doctor was acting didn't help Clint's gut feeling any, even if Clint didn't know what was going through the older man's head. Banner's expression made it appear as if the doctor was deep in thought. The way Bruce kept looking at the guy called Brent helped clue the assassin in one what might be going on in Banner's head.

"You know him or something?" He asked when they were alone in the hallway.

… …

Bruce hadn't expected Clint to read him so easily. He blinked at the archer in surprise.

"We worked together back in New Mexico, before the accident. The others here don't know what happened, it was hushed up and I was said to have been seriously injured then gone into isolation on a government program. Brent was actually there though, when it happened. I gave him that limp when I brought the building down, I saw him in hospital just before I left. I also smashed his face in with a baseball bat two years earlier so he was disposed to not like me before I buried him under several tons of rubble. He's the only one here who knows about the other guy."

Bruce had never given Brent or anyone else from New Mexico much thought, besides Betty. She had refused to tell him exactly how many casualties the accident had caused. He knew that he had hurt a lot of people and that a few new graves had been dug because of him. Another thing to keep him from sleeping.

… …

Clint watched the doctor blink a bit in surprise, clearly uncertain as to Clint had read his mind. It was simple really; it was Barton's job to know what was going through another person's heads. It was easy to pick out someone's thought process from different human traits, changes in facial expressions, even the way people stood gave them away.

After listening to the connection Brent had to Bruce the uneasy feeling the archer had grew a bit darker. "I don't know about you, but none of this seems right. He wasn't exactly friendly when we met him out at the plane, and he didn't exchange any pleasantries or ask how you've been. Was he not a very sociable guy when you knew him back then? I mean, I might be wrong, but –" Clint had met arms dealers with kinder personalities than Brent.

Barton sighed, knowing now it was a good thing he came along with Bruce. Something was very off about this whole thing. The archer wouldn't be surprised if they ran into some serious trouble. He needed to make sure the jet was fuelled, just in case they needed to make a quick exit.

"I think we should stay together for a bit," Barton told Bruce finally. "I might be wrong, but I've been in enough of these situations to know we should tread carefully."

… …

Bruce nodded at Clint's suggestion. Staying together did seem like a good plan, even if Brent hadn't shown any real hostility.

"Sociable? The guy never shut up. He was the only one who would actually make plans outside the laboratory that weren't dates. He did stop inviting me after the baseball incident though but he still spoke to me. I lived in the same building as his fiancée."

Now that he thought about it, Brent not speaking to them was a little out of character. "It's been a while though, maybe he doesn't remember what I looked like, people tend to just remember the other guy."

Bruce was now worried about what Brent could say. If he told Simms or any of the other scientists then his cover would be blown and he could never research or advise under his own name again.

Not to mention the fact that they'd be thrown out into the cold with no fuel. Bruce may not be able to fly but he knew that small planes couldn't make it from New York to northern Alaska and back without stopping for fuel somewhere along the way.

"Sticking together won't hurt," he conceded and threw his bag onto the bed in his room before heading back towards the stairs.

… …

Clint put his bag on his bed and took off his coat placing it off to the side. Not wanting to be in a possibly hostile situation unarmed Clint unzipped his duffle and pulled out a few potentially useful things, armed himself quickly and then followed after Bruce.

Barton was glad that Bruce had agreed to stick close to him, but that didn't cure the unease that had fallen over the archer. Still, he was as prepared as he could be for the unknown situation.

Not to mention Clint knew he had a tendency to over react in situations like this. Being an assassin had caused Barton to become a bit paranoid when it came to possible danger. Brent had showed all the signs of being a threat, and Bruce's history with the man had only strengthened Clint's theory.

Still, Barton knew he could be wrong. Brent could just be a little bitter over the past and closed off because of what Banner was now – not that Bruce deserved that kind of treatment, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The hawk would definitely keep his eyes open for any sort of danger.

They strolled into the lab without seeing a single person in the hallways. Even the lab itself was empty. Not particularly a good sign, Clint thought. Stop being paranoid, he scolded himself lightly glancing around with his hands shoved into his jean pockets to keep himself from playing with different objects lying on the counters.

"So where's this Simms character?" Barton wondered out loud just as the door they had entered slammed shut. Hands out of his pocket, now resting on his gun holster strapped to his back Clint turned to investigate the sudden sound. "That's not a good sign."

… …

Bruce jumped when the door slammed, spinning around in alarm. Clint's paranoia had spread to him and he was immediately looking for a way out of the underground lab.

"Must have been a breeze," he said, more to find a plausible excuse than because he actually believed that. The room was empty but Bruce could see several things wrong with it. All of the computers were off, something that never happened unless there was a power shortage, no papers or notes were lying around and everything was spotless.

No lab was like that, it had been cleared. Even the equipment Clint had been looking at quizzically was almost all packed away, only a few pieces left out. The lab didn't look like a lab at all, more like a film set.

"This isn't where the work gets done," Bruce said slowly. "It's all for show." The clincher was the smell. Laboratories always smelled of disinfectant, chemicals and unopened windows. Not of paint, dust and an odd sort of perfume.

"Clint, there's something in the air," he gasped as the desk loomed out of nowhere to slam itself into his leg. A slight hissing noise surrounded him as the gas flooded the room.

Bruce couldn't breathe but he recognized the taste in his mouth. Knock-out gas. Desperately he tried to keep the other guy under control until his vision went black. Better black than green.

… …

Clint didn't loosen his grip on his gun, if anything it tightened. He glanced at the equipment again when Bruce mentioned it was all for show. Although he had fallen for the mock up it was a good thing Banner knew what labs were supposed to look like.

Barton's eyes were focused back on the door when a thud sounded behind him, followed quickly by the hissing of something being released into the air.

One breath of the stuff sent Clint swimming in his own mind. His vision jumped as he held his breath and turned around just in time to see Bruce fall to his knees. Crap, the archer cursed inwardly as he looked at the source of the gas. There were too many valves to try and turn off before he had to take another breath. The gas he had already inhaled was taking effect.

He needed fresh air, the windows were sealed shut, but that didn't mean he couldn't break them. With a stumble Clint made it to the widow and banged it with his sidearm. No effect. Bulletproof, most likely.

Who the hell designs a bulletproof lab?

Grunting Clint turned again, but was unable to see much beyond the clouding darkness. Bruce was down, in a way Barton could be glad the man hadn't Hulked out – there was no way Clint could do much about it if he had.

Collapsing to his knees Clint tried to clear his vision only to fail, tipping over into complete unawareness.

The next thing Clint knew was that he was thirsty. His throat was dry to the point of feeling scratchy. With slow blinks Clint took in some other new information. He was sitting upright against a hard, cold wall. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his weapons mostly gone. They hadn't checked him over well enough to find the small knife in his boot.

Glancing to the side he saw Bruce, still unconscious by the looks of it. Letting out a few harsh coughs Clint twisted his body to grab the knife before someone joined them; they needed to get the hell out of there. Once he had the small sharp object in his hand he sat normally again, turning his attention to Bruce as he started to pick at the lock. It was a bit difficult considering the size of the knife. He'd rather be using one of Natasha's hair pins.

"Bruce, hey Banner, wake up."

… …

Bruce struggled to open his eyes and lift the fog from his brain. Neither his eyes nor the fog were cooperating.

"What happened?" he mumbled but really Clint had no chance of understanding him. All Bruce remembered was that the other guy hadn't made an appearance.

He tried to shift his hands but they were held tightly in place behind him. Although his mouth was too dry to really say anything coherent he tried again to ask what had happened.

Clint was next to him, reassuringly close and awake. That was a good sign; Clint could get them out of there. The position he was in was painful, his arms were cuffed too high up behind his back and crossed over to make them pull at his shoulders more than Clint's did. He was also pretty are that he had bashed his knee hit the table when he fell.

"You're lucky to be here, it takes a lot to knock the other guy out," he said weakly as he managed to force the words past his dry throat. Clint was picking at his bonds already. A few more moments and the archer would be free. They didn't get a few more moments.

Bruce hadn't really looked around the room until the door opened with a loud slam. It had been too dark but now he saw that they were in what might have been a large storage room with no windows and one door. A solitary bulb flickered into life as the outside switch was pressed. Bruce stared at Brent as he entered, a cruel grin on the long face.

… …

Clint blinked until his eyes readjusted to the light and shifted his movements so that they were subtle.

Clint coughed again and glanced over at Bruce, than glared back at Brent. "You know, when you ask someone to come a rather long distance to help with research – this isn't the hospitality you greet them with." The archer hissed, trying to draw the attention of this week's bad guy away from Banner.

The more stress Bruce was under the more likely the other guy would make an appearance, which would not be good. The room was small, too small for something as big and angry as the Hulk.

"So, if you don't mind, we'll be leaving now." Clint said, gently moving the knife back and forth in the silver cuffs lock. He was having a hard time getting the too thick blade to stay in the small keyhole. The blade had slipped a couple times, breaking through the thin skin of his wrist. Thankfully the cuts weren't that deep; they just slicked the whole area with blood, making things even harder.

… …

Brent glared at Clint before deciding that he was nothing more than an inconvenience. He turned to Bruce and smiled the sick sort of smile that Loki had perfected.

"Hello, Bruce. I must say you're looking exceptionally well rested for someone with so much blood on their hands. I was expecting you to be a bit more sleep-deprived but then again, we can't expect you to have kept a conscience now can we?" His tone was bitter, mocking and cruel.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked quietly, not sure how much time Clint needed to get free and charge the guy. The situation was not looking good for his days without incident count.

Brent snarled at him, taking a step closer.

"I want you to pay for what you did to Faye. What you did to us all. She died because of your mistake, Banner. Did you really think you could get away with that?" Bruce remembered Faye, Brent's fiancée.

She had been a small woman with long black braids and a cheerful smile. He hadn't known the accident had killed her. A wave of guilt swept over him and he nearly vomited. Brent didn't need to do anything else to him; he was both torturer and prisoner to himself.

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say. It was never enough, it was nowhere near. Now that he knew he had Faye's blood on his hands he couldn't ask Brent to let him go, he deserved anything the man threw had him. What he couldn't let him do was harm Clint.

"Do whatever, Brent, I deserve it but let Clint go. He's got nothing to do with this," he begged.

… …

Clint half listened, not pleased when Brent completely ignored him and turned directly to Bruce. With a growl the archer focused on getting free, only half listening to the exchange happening between Brent and Banner.

His ears picked up Brent's reasoning, the story about his fiancée being killed by the Hulk. Damn. All the work Tony and Clint had done trying to rebuild Bruce shattered. God this sucked.

Renewing his effort Clint finally freed his hand and bolted upright just as Bruce started to plead for his release. Like that was going to happen. Barton would never leave a teammate behind, and he'd die before he let a friend suffer alone.

"I'm not going anywhere." Clint growled and sent a fist into Brent's face. "And you're not going to touch him, bastard." Barton growled down at the man and turned to free Bruce.

Before Clint could slip his knife into the keyhole something slammed into his back from behind. "Do they ever just give up?" Clint hissed and turned around to face his opponent, but instead of facing Brent a new face had entered the room.

The man, who Clint quickly named Muscles, was taller than Brent and towered over Clint. His muscles were impressive.

"Ahem, have you been working out?" Clint asked just before the man swung his meaty fist towards the archer's head. Thankfully it was clear that the two SOB's still thought he was simply a pilot – not a well-trained assassin.

Ducking under the hit, Barton weaved and threw a kick straight up into the man's chin.

Muscle's was barely phased.

… …

Bruce tried to roll out of the way as Clint slammed a kick into the very nearly seven feet of muscle that had suddenly appeared. He ended up toppling over onto his side and squirming around to prevent either the archer or the Neanderthal from landing on him. He couldn't keep up with the speed at which Clint was moving around the Neanderthal but the taller man was certainly good at fighting and was giving the assassin a run for his money or so it appeared.

Crawling into a corner, his hands still painfully pulled behind him, Bruce looked around for Brent. The flurry of arms and legs as well as the dim lighting made it hard to find the long faced man. The door however was open and Bruce needed to find a way to get Clint out of it without a scratch. If he did survive this he would have one pissed off Widow to deal with.

… …

Clint ducked and dodged, barely being given any time to retaliate – not that his hits actually did any good. The guy felt like he was made of rubber, thick, sturdy rubber. It actually hurt his hands.

Missing a dodge a meaty fist slammed into Clint's chest, sending him back and gasping for breath. "Damn, your fist is like a hammer." Barton coughed with one had against his chest.

The pause was appreciated, but short lived. Muscles rushed forward to slam into Clint again, but the smaller man ducked under his mass and slammed a foot into Muscles back, sending the man stumbling to the floor.

A gunshot echoed loudly throughout the small space and for a minute everything stopped Then Clint fell back against the wall, his right leg engulfed in fire. The bullet had hit him in low in fleshy thigh muscles. Looking to the left and saw young women standing next to Brent, smoking gun in her hand.

"That doesn't seem fair." Barton commented just before he was pinned roughly against the wall he was leaning against. Muscles drew a fist back and the gun was cocked again, this time aimed at Bruce as the girl waited for orders. The fist swung downwards, slamming into Clint's bleeding thigh.

A strangled scream ripped through Clint's too dry throat as pain over took his senses. He tried to hold it back, but failed miserably. He'd lost his knife at some point, maybe they'd be lucky and Bruce got a hold of it.

… …

Bruce flinched away from the gunshot, knowing that the other guy was only inches away. Blood spurted from Clint's leg and he made a move towards his friend, searching for a way to help.

"Stay still, both of you or we shoot. We wouldn't want the monster to retaliate and bring the roof down now would we? There are whole families up there, even a small school. Patch your slippery friend up, Doctor and we'll be moving on."

Brent thrust a piece of cloth into Bruce's face although with his hands still bound he could do nothing but watch as Clint clutched his wounded thigh. The girl still had the gun pointed straight at Bruce's head, ready to unleash the Hulk and kill them all. He had to admit she was brave, it was suicide. Then again Brent probably hadn't told her exactly what he was.

"You don't have to do this, Brent. You can't kill me for what I did." The long faced man let out a bitter cackle.

"I don't want to kill you, Bruce. I want to see you suffer. Your pet monkey here means more than anything else here to you so you can have the pleasure of killing him. Cuff him up," Brent ordered the Neanderthal.

Bruce felt bile rising in his throat, burning a way up his parched oesophagus. The other guy screamed in his head, hammering his temples to shreds. He couldn't let him kill Clint. If that happened then Bruce wouldn't stop until he found a way to join him. He couldn't let Clint get hurt.

"It's such a shame, a brilliant mind that was stupid enough to do a bit of exploring and didn't look where he was going. Still, accidents happen," Brent commented in a cold tone. He jerked Bruce to his feet, the girl's gun placed firmly at the back of his head.

… …

Clint couldn't really do anything, not with Muscles-for-brains pinning him to the wall, not with his leg being completely uncooperative, and especially not with a crazy ninja chick holding a gun to Banner's head.

This whole situation had gone from bad to worse. Perhaps it would have been better if he had stayed back at the tower and let Tony run his experiments. No, Clint knew that was a lie. Banner didn't deserve this. Any of this. If he were alone, Bruce would allow whatever torture these bastards had planned.

Although now Clint was the torture, maybe Bruce would have been better off alone. Because of the Hulk, Bruce couldn't die. But the guilt this guy was growing inside Banner, it was doing damage Clint and the other Avengers had fought to heal.

The hawk's eyes focused on Brent, glaring his disprovable openly. His bloody hand came up to grip Muscle's arm still pressed firmly against his throat and winced deeply as he gently put pressure on his injured leg.

Muscles pushed down on Clint's throat before he pulled his arm back, letting the archer take in a needed breath. As he recovered from the lack of oxygen the archer was dragged over to Bruce and a pair of handcuffs was slipped onto Clint's wrists. With a tug Clint noted that his and Bruce's cuffs were now intertwined together.

If Bruce let the Hulk out now the green giant would probably tear off Clint's arms in the process. Unable to do much else Clint grabbed Bruce's wrist, knowing the man was probably struggling with his control. "Bruce, just breathe, okay? You're fine, I'm fine."

That wasn't necessarily true, but it was the thought that counted, right?

Muscles was suddenly in front of Clint, none so kindly wrapping a strap of cloth over the archer's bloody thigh. It hurt. Badly. With gritted teeth and tense muscles, Barton was desperate to keep the sound of pain inside his throat. Bruce was already beyond stress, Clint needed to help calm him down any way he could.

… …

Bruce couldn't help but grasp at Clint's hand when it presented itself. The contact was some small comfort but he latched onto it and focused on the warmth of the archer's hand as if it was the only thing anchoring him to the Earth. He was scared, not so much for himself but for Clint and the people above him.

Tremors racked him body as he fought for control. It didn't help that Clint had become as important to the other guy as Tony was and he had decided to let Bruce know that he was doing a bad job of protecting his friend. Leaning against Clint's back he took deep breaths, trying to slow his heart rate down.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as Brent and the Neanderthal forced them out of the room and shoved them up the stairs. Bruce could do nothing to stop them hurting Clint's leg and tried to lean forward to take some of the archer's weight.

He had been right, he was a monster and there was no changing that. It didn't matter what Tony and Clint said. If there was any cage that could hold him he deserved to be shut in it.

… …

Clint had never feared the Hulk before. After all, the Hulk had never shown the archer any real aggression. Some, namely Tony, thought that the green giant had a soft spot for the SHIELD agent. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. The one thing Clint was very aware of at the moment was that if Bruce gave into his green side his arms would more than likely be ripped right off of his body.

As an archer, Clint needed his arms. The fear rippled through Clint, but he did his best to hide it well. Bruce didn't need any more guilt, the doctor needed to calm down. Taking a calming breath in for himself Clint squeezed gently back to Bruce as they were forced up, pushed towards the stairs.

Walking sent fire spreading out from the bullet wound in Barton's leg. Unfortunately for the archer the bullet hadn't gone straight through, but got lodged in his bone. Groaning Clint was grateful when Bruce took his weight, allowing some relief as they walked. Still Clint stumbled and struggled to stay upright.

"Breathe, Bruce." Clint mumbled, too quietly for anyone but his teammate to hear. "You're going to be fine. Just breathe and relax." Barton's voice was calm, but rough from the pain. "Don't listen to these bastards. You're a hero. We all have blood in our ledgers."

Dark spots danced in Clint's vision as they were forced outside into the icy wind and into the back of a van.

Something told Clint that they wouldn't let him go back and get his coat – damned good SHIELD technology once again unable to be used.

… …


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

… …

Bruce took a moment to notice the change in temperature over the boiling sensation that was running through his body. He barely heard Clint's reassurances. It wasn't until he felt the floor of the van hit his shoulder that he finally wrestled back enough control to begin to take in his surroundings. He had to make sure that Clint was as alright as possible and the doctor in him overcame the monster.

"Clint?" he whispered, his voice calm and professional. "I need you to tell me exactly what you can feel. Do you know where the bullet is?" He had to know how bad the damage was and whether Clint was about to pass out from blood loss. Without being able to see the wound it would be one of the more difficult treatments. Bruce didn't let himself even think about the situation besides his patient. That was his party trick: distracting the other guy and his energy.

… …

Clint remained still when his body found rest on the floor of the van. He was exhausted, mostly from the blood loss. If they were tossed out in the cold, Clint knew from experience the cold would probably stop the blood flow. Of course the cold would also kill him, so everything felt a bit like a lose, lose situation.

"Uh, pain, mostly." Clint joked back to Bruce, but sobered quickly. "Got hit maybe two inches above my knee cap. Don't think it hit anything important. Got stuck in either the muscle or the bone." Barton gritted his teeth as the van bumped along. "Bleedings not so bad, I'm going to be fine, Bruce."

Of course that was probably a lie, and the doctor probably was aware that was a lie. Bruce couldn't die; the Hulk would take over before he had a chance. Clint however was painfully human. He didn't have super abilities that healed him, or saved his life.

One thing was for sure though, if he could help it, Clint wasn't going to die here. He wouldn't do that to Banner; the guy had enough on his conscious.

"Is there, anything around you can grab? Anything small enough to fit in the locks?" Clint whispered to Bruce. They were the only two in the back of the van.

… …

Bruce knew that Clint was lying. The archer wouldn't be conscious long if he didn't stop the bleeding soon. As for something small to fit in the locks, all he could think of were his glasses, broken and smashed in his back pocket.

"I've got my glasses in my back pocket. They're broken now." Getting free was a good start but he needed Clint to still be awake if they were going to get out.

"Clint, this is going to hurt but you need to cross your legs and push down hard on the wound, the pressure will slow the bleeding until I can look at it properly, okay?" He couldn't let Clint die; he couldn't be responsible for another death. He wished that they could change places and the archer be the one who couldn't die. He hated the other guy, hated himself for that stupid accident.

Then the van stopped suddenly. Bruce winced as what he figured was about to come.

… …

Clint took mental notes of what Bruce was telling him. Slowly, painfully he moved to apply pressure onto his wound, nearly blacking out from the fire that engulfed his leg and spread up and out through his blood stream. Although he managed not to outright scream, a whimper did make an undignified show from the torture.

Somewhere beyond the pain Clint heard a door open. When had the van stopped? It disturbed Barton how out of it he had become. Rough hands pulled Bruce and him from the van – the pain intensified and the pressure was released.

The archer was really only aware of the cold – the world had become frozen and blue.

At this point Clint didn't care, he was tired and just wanted to go home.

The world faded in and out but Clint soon found he was settled on a chair. Why was a chair outside in the snow? Maybe Brent had brought it along, he wasn't sure. Barton did know that his cuffs were still intertwined with Bruce's.

Realizing the pressure on his leg was gone Clint was vaguely aware that he should be trying to fix that, but couldn't bring himself to lift his leg or press down.

He needed to save his strength and pick the locks once they were alone.

Was Brent really going to leave them out in the freaking artic? Clint shivered as the breeze picked up, his muscles tensing uncomfortably as a numb feeling started to spread through him.

… …

Bruce felt the shiver run down Clint's back but couldn't think of any way to help. He was cold too but dying of hypothermia really wasn't the other guy's style and he had enough anger to keep him warm. The Neanderthal hadn't said a word as he locked them to a pair of back to back chairs. The ground seemed unusually slippery underneath them. Brent circled, his long face twisted into a grim smile.

"Four hours Faye was under the rubble, before she drowned in her own blood from where the rubble had fractured her ribs. It just so happens that the sun will rise in approximately four hours and you can both see what it's like to drown. It's spring here, Doctor, and ice melts in the spring." Bruce looked down with dread, they were on a lake. Brent appeared directly before him, pressing his face unpleasantly close.

"I will find you; I will never stop hurting you, Banner. You're a monster and death's too good for you. I hope you never find a cure, that you can never taste the sweet release like your friend will. You deserve to live, Banner, live in constant pain and fear. You are a murderer, not a doctor. I want you to try and end it, I want you to put a thousand bullets through your head and know that the beast will spit them out. I want the world to know what you are, to shun you and cast you out. I'm not going to kill you, Banner. No, I'm going to force you to live."

… …

Clint wasn't sure really what was going on, mostly because he had spaced out for a bit longer than he should have. His eyes focused on the cloth wrapped around his bullet wound. The once white material now deep crimson, stained with his blood.

He zoned back in near the end of Brent's little speech. "Yeah, and if I die I'm going to haunt your ass." Barton mumbled loudly, lifting his head in defiance to their captor. "I'll make you go insane, never giving you a moments rest. And if I live, you should probably stay away from windows because you'll have a target on your back for the rest of your life."

… …

Bruce nearly grinned at the defiance in Clint's voice. It was true; the archer would hunt Brent down if he survived the next few hours. Still, he couldn't really blame Brent; uf it had been Tony or Clint then he would have hunted down whoever was responsible. Of course he wouldn't strap them to a chair with the most important person to them in the world and leave them to drown or die of hypothermia. No, the other guy would just smash.

"Well your situation really isn't that good right now. You can sit there until you die of blood loss if the ice is still holding out or Banner here can save himself. I'm sure you can guess how that would end." Brent and the Neanderthal disappeared into the darkness, the van could be heard driving off and they were left alone. Bruce couldn't reach his glasses but could feel that Clint's hands were closer.

"Clint? In my right back pocket there are my glasses. Are they any use to get us out?" He had to keep Clint occupied and awake otherwise the cold and blood loss would kill him. Unless the archer could free them he couldn't see a way out.

The ice answered before Clint could, a loud crack as the surface under them shifted. If the lake broke the other guy would appear and there would be a drowned, frozen and armless Clint floating in the lake the next day.

… …

At the end of his little speech, Clint kept his head up just long enough to watch the bad guys vanish into the night before dropping his head back down to his chest. It was exhausting just to think about moving.

Barton's body was quickly losing precious heat; shivers like electricity ran through his nerves.

Vaguely Clint heard Bruce talking to him, but it was the loud crack of the ice shifting that really caught the archer's attention.

This was not the time to sleep on the job. "Back pocket. Right." Clint muttered and twisted slightly to look behind him. The pain was actually receding now, shock was probably settling in nicely. Or maybe the cold had just numbed him.

Sluggishly Clint moved his hand; tangled in the metal links it took him a couple tries before he managed to grope something useful out of Banner's back pocket. "Sorry." He muttered with a shiver, nearly dropping the bent piece of metal in the tremor.

… …

Bruce could do nothing as he waited for Clint to work some magic on the lock. He tried to find a way off the ice but there wasn't enough light yet to see. He supposed that the lack of dawn was a good thing as otherwise they would be underwater as the lake melted. Already he could see cracks near his feet.

There was no way they could simply walk off, even if Clint could walk. Bruce knew that he couldn't carry the archer's weight, which despite his small stature was surprisingly heavy. The other guy could with ease but he doubted that the ice would hold out.

Clint wouldn't last much longer out in the cold and soon Bruce would be cold enough for the other guy to step in. Just thinking of the danger made it harder to keep seeing in colour.

He hoped that Clint still had the use of his fingers; they really needed to get free.

… …

Clint was struggling, he couldn't feel his hands anymore, which left him picking the lock of what he hoped was Bruce's cuffs completely blind. It didn't help that his mind was drifting. A few times he had to remind himself where he was and what he was doing.

Things might not be so bad if Clint had only been shot, but the blood loss topped with the cold had fried the normally sharp man's brain.

Who was he with? Someone was with him. It felt like hours had gone by. "Na-Nat?" He asked suddenly, wondering what mission they had been on that had gotten so screwed up. Was his partner injured? Maybe that's why he was the one struggling to pick the locks.

Whatever the case Barton doubled his efforts in freeing his partner. At least she would be able to get out of this frozen, dark hell.

… …

Bruce couldn't bring himself to tell Clint that Natasha was nowhere nearby. If Clint could get him free he could get the archer away. Somehow, through the frostbite and shaking the assassin picked the lock free. Within seconds Bruce had twisted himself out of the cuffs and was holding Clint's head in his hands. The younger man's eyes refused to focus.

"Clint, can you hear me? You need to stay awake, okay? Just stay awake. I'll get you out of this, I promise." He wrapped the cloth tighter around Clint's leg and pulled him free of the chair.

He had to get him to somewhere warmer, preferably quickly to avoid Brent. He knew that if he met the man again the other guy would do some permanent damage.

The ice gave an alarming shudder in protest. He was running out of time. Stepping back to try and reposition Clint he felt the ice shift. He fell backwards into the shock of freezing cold water and his vision went green.

… …

Icy liquid threatened to engulf Clint's body, reaching up to his waistline before something too big to be human grabbed him around his chest. An arm? The Hulk. "Bruce." The archer mumbled, struggling weakly before giving in. The Hulk wasn't holding him too tightly; in fact the big guy was almost gentle.

Exhausted Clint mumbled the beasts name before succumbing to darkness. Hoping that if he woke up things would look a little brighter.

… …

Hulk swept Clint up with one arm, using the rest of his limbs to keep his head above water. Clint getting wet would be bad; he had heard Banner say that to him over and over again. He reached the water's edge and threw Clint's form up onto dry land before pulling himself out. A poke of the archer's chest provided no reply. Hulk roared to wake him up because when Iron Man had been hurt it had worked. It didn't work. Again Hulk scooped him up and held him gently against his chest. Clint was cold and that was not good.

A small boat house had been built on the lake for when it was in use during the summer. Hulk lay Clint on the ground and pushed him in through the door. The green giant then tried to follow but ended up halfway through and then got stuck. He didn't smash the puny boathouse because Clint needed the shack. Hulk lay down, half outside, and covered the archer's body with his own, hugging him to keep him warm.

… …

When Clint woke it felt as though he had been hit by a truck and left out in the boiling desert to die. The odds of that happening more than three times in a lifetime seemed unlikely though, so the archer pried his eyes open. He saw green.

Muttering something that didn't sound like what he was going for, Barton shifted and groaned loudly. His leg was on fire, he was sure of it. The archer glanced down, but was hindered by all the green.

Green.

Green equalled the Hulk.

Bruce.

Ice.

Brent.

"Shit."

Wincing Clint remembered vividly he'd been shot, though the rest was a blur. A frozen, green hazed blur. Vaguely Clint wondered if this was what Bruce felt like after Hulking out.

"Okay, big guy." Clint grunted up at the not quite friendly giant (he was a rage monster after all) "I need to get up, buddy."

The bullet was still in his leg, it needed to come out as soon as possible. Though the dip in the cold probably saved Clint from dying of blood loss and possibly kept the infection from spreading, Clint had been shot enough to know keeping a bullet in a wound was bad news.

… …

Hulk snorted as Clint tried to get him to move. He wasn't keen on moving, he had to keep the archer warm after all. Clint kept moving towards the hole in his leg, the sight of blood made Hulk angry. He growled as the smell hit him. Clint was hurt and he wasn't happy. Carefully he moved away from the man, allowing him to reach his leg. Hulk didn't understand what was happening, there was nothing he could do to help, no one to smash.

"Clint?" he growled. He wasn't used to talking, Banner talked. He did give people warning when he was going to smash them and he had told Loki what he thought of him but actually talking to Clint was hard. Hulk put his arm around Clint to keep him warm but so that he could still reach his leg. Laying his head down he nudged the archer's back. He closed his eyes and felt the control he had wrestled from Banner slip away.

… …

Clint winced, grateful to have mobility back when the Hulk let up. He was surprised with the big guy rumbled his name. The archer hadn't known the Hulk knew any of their names. Now he did. However fascinating the new information was, Clint needed to focus on his leg.

Natasha would smack the back of Clint's head if she saw him take his eyes off of Hulk in such close range. The way Barton saw it, the Hulk went to a lot of trouble saving him, the beast wasn't about to smash him for no reason.

"Hey," Clint said suddenly, hands wrapped around his bloody wound as he stared up into big green eyes. "Thanks. You probably saved my life." He smiled brightly at the creature. Banner might not think much of his other half, but Clint liked the guy's company.

If anyone knew what it was like to be angry, it was Clint. Unlike Banner, though, Barton could hide his anger well. Releasing it in battle or in training.

… …

Bruce opened his eyes to find himself in a rather comprising position with his feet sticking out of the doorway to a rotten old boat house. He was sort of on top of a slightly surprised Clint. Awkwardly he sat up and turned around slightly. It really was incredibly cold.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, the automatic question whenever he woke up. If he had hurt Clint on top of everything that had happened to the archer because of him he would not return to New York. Friends didn't get each other onto frozen lakes and nearly killed.

He looked around for something to pull around himself. The only fabric was Clint's sodden clothes. They had to get to the plane soon or else they would both take a leaf out of Steve's book and become icicles. He pulled the door shut to try and keep the air inside warmer. Bruce didn't think an icicle would be a pleasant thing to be.

… …

Clint blinked and the big guy had shrunk down to a very small, naked, guy. "Bruce." He acknowledged with a sigh. Banner was decidedly not as warm as the Hulk had been. The absence of the green finance was noted and missed. At least Bruce could help him dig the bullet out of his inflamed leg.

"Actually, he saved my life." Barton told the scientist. "Bruce, he isn't all bad." Clint breathed, gripping his leg as he leaned back. "He snatched me from the lake before I was fully submerged and carried me here. He kept me warm."

Clint faded for a minute, riding out a wave of intense pain and shivers before he blinked back at Bruce. "He knows my name." He said suddenly. "You should probably find some clothes, maybe start a fire. You aren't as warm as he is." The archer chuckled lightly, smiling a little loopy at the doc.

… …

Bruce stared at Clint in amazement. The other guy knew his name? The Hulk hadn't even said Tony's name before.

A gust of frozen air made him move on the Clint's next words. Clothes and fire. He looked around for some kindling. A small box full of rope presented itself and he tore it up. Setting the smashed up bits of wood in a pile he began to try and get enough friction to get a flame going.

"I didn't realize he could even talk," he muttered. "I thought he just yelled." He had never thought of the other guy as capable of speech or even coherent thought beside smash.

"He's just a monster to me, he's the bad guy."

What he didn't say was that he thought of the Hulk as different to him to avoid the idea that somehow he caused the destruction, that he was responsible. It was easier if the other guy was separate, a monster.

He didn't want to believe what Tony and Clint did, that he was a hero. That made him more human and answerable for his actions. If Hulk was the monster then Bruce could be the good guy, if the other guy wasn't just a furious beast then what did that make him?

Suddenly a flame burst into light and the dry wood caught. A warm glow filled the hut and smoke stuck in his throat.

"Step one: fire. Step two: clothes," Bruce said quietly, trying to cover the fact that he had lost his clothes somewhere along the line.

… …

Clint listened to Bruce's progress, trying to give the man some privacy. Through haze filled eyes he stared at his blood-stained hands and leg. He was back against one of the wooden walls of the cabin, one hand on his wounded thigh. The archer wanted to help, but he also knew his situation was not a good one. Clint needed to get the bullet out of his leg, survive the growing infection and then he and Bruce needed to get the hell out of there.

"Do you think I'm a monster then?" His voice asked before he could check the question. Stupid fever. He always rambled a bit more when his fever got to a certain temp. "Loki, what he did, I still knew what I was doing. I could see and think. Everything we did I helped plan. Everything."

He looked up and over in the doctor's general direction. "I told him about you, about the others. And then I lead the attack and killed my own people." The archer dropped his eyes. "I might have been unmade, but I was still me, it was still me."

Now Coulson was dead and his own people looked at him like he was a monster. Maybe not a literal one like Bruce, but still. Clint's head dropped back against the wall, his eyes closed. "We all have a dark side, Bruce. Everyone. Yours is just physical. Still, Hulk saved Tony's life before and mine just now. He's not all evil. Give yourself some credit, Banner, you're teaching him what's right."

… …


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

… …

Bruce pulled a fishing net over himself and moved to examine Clint's leg. The bullet was wedged in his muscle, leaving the bone untouched.

"You're not a monster," he told the archer quietly. "None of that was you, whether you remember your actions or not, it was all Loki. You're not going to do that again, ever." He had more to say to reassure Clint, more reasons why they were different but he needed to concentrate. With nothing but his hands to get the bullet out he moved so that his shoulder was pressing Clint back in case he jerked around.

"Sorry about this, it's going to hurt," he warned his friend. It wasn't the most hygienic way of doing it but he really had no other choice. With a tug the bullet came free, Bruce's hands slippery with blood. He didn't miss the significance of him having blood on his hands.

… …

Clint watched mutely at first as Bruce inspected the wound and tried to convince him none of what happened with Loki was his fault. However, it was all his fault. If he had been faster, smarter he would have avoided the alien's blasted staff. Some other sap would have been taken. One with less knowledge on SHIELD.

Before Clint could respond Bruce gave a warning and then dug his fingers into the wound. It wasn't the first time a bullet had to be extracted out of him in this crude way, but knowledge never made it easy.

A muted scream was stuck in his throat as Barton threw his head back into the wall supporting him. All his nerves ignited as Bruce dug around inside his leg, his body. Hyperventilating, breathing mainly through his nose to keep the pained noises soft, Clint closed his eyes and waited for everything to stop.

Long after Bruce had pulled the smashed piece of metal from his leg the pain continued. Burning and flaring throughout the archer's worn body. Blood dripped down his thigh from the wound with new force. It was red and inflamed.

"Probably, you pr-probably should pack it with snow. Or, before that – you need to stop the infection. Cauterize the wound." His body shivered involuntarily as he rested his head back against the wall. "Tomorrow I'll go scout, figure out where we are and where the facility is."

… …

Bruce nodded; of course he knew that he had to sterilize the wound. Opening the door he cupped fresh snow into his hand and began to wash it out.

"Tomorrow you're going to stay here and rest. I can go and look around. I have been in hiding before; I know what I'm doing." He began to look around the hut, trying to find something to keep the cold away.

He may not be at risk of dying of hypothermia, the Hulk would stop that, but walking around with nothing but a fishing net on was not his style. There was an old waterproof in a cupboard, which he pulled on, tucking the second around Clint.

"Fire, clothes, we're good for a bit then," he said lightly. "I think Natasha might just put us both in playpens and give us rattles. No, even then we might get hurt. Definitely no more unsupervised outings. Not even to the grocery store."

… …

"With the way our luck has been," Clint grinned, "The grocery store would get held up the second we walked through those automatic sliding doors."

With a sigh he grimaced from the pain radiating from his wound. He hoped they'd get a chance to get into trouble in the future. Right now things weren't looking overly good.

"Bruce, just in case, I should run through how to get a plane in the air." It wasn't the desired outcome, but it was also the likely one.

… …

Bruce stared at Clint for a second, registering what he had just said.

"It doesn't matter. If you're not coming with me then I'm not going either. I won't leave you here, Clint. You're not going to die; you're going to be fine. Yes your leg is pretty bad but you're getting out of here alive, not walking for the time being but alive. Got that?" He didn't clarify that if Clint died he wouldn't go back to Tony; he wouldn't go back into society.

Even Calcutta had been too much of a risk. He would go back to the wild, the tundra or south to the rainforest. But Clint still had a chance, however slim, of making it and Bruce wasn't going to give up. He may not be planning to go back but he was damn well going to make sure that Clint did.

"Besides, if you're not there who's going to make Tony keep the pointy things to himself? We'll be back to you hiding in my lab from Stark and me flooding the room with paper airplanes. I forgot about that actually, Stark's going to make me clear all of that up."

He feigned a grin as he stoked the fire slightly. "We'll be out of here by tomorrow and be answering to Natasha by the next morning, you'll see." Lying wasn't something he was happy doing but something that a doctor often did.

… …

Clint listened to Bruce and smiled a bit. He didn't mean to have it sound like he was going to die. In retrospect it had sounded a little depressing.

"I know I'm not going to die." He told Bruce with a roll of his eyes. "Don't be dramatic. I have my own personal doctor with me, after all. I just might not be able to fly us out of here, if the fever takes hold of me again."

Clint frowned slightly, looking back at Banner. "What's going on in your head, Bruce? That guy, Brent, he's messed up. What happened, it couldn't be stopped. Like Coulson's death, sometimes bad things happen to good people. And sometimes the only person you can blame is yourself."

With a sigh and a grumbled curse Barton shifted his position carefully. "There are two ways you can react when that happens. You can run away and hide hoping never to hurt anyone ever again. Or, you can do what I've decided to do; you can fight tooth and nail to redeem yourself."

In the past Bruce was known for running. Clint wasn't about to let the man fall back into his old patterns. Not without a fight. Tony and Clint would stop at nothing to bring the man back. Kicking and screaming if necessary.

… …

"The only way I can redeem myself is to find a cure," Bruce said. "I can't make up for the things I've done, I can't win back trust because I was never trusted to begin with. All I can do is get rid of the threat." He stopped, knowing that Clint didn't agree with him.

"Don't even try and talk me out of it, please. You managed to lose Loki, to get yourself back. All I want is to do the same thing."

Sighing, he slid down next to Clint. Even with the use of the Stark labs he was nowhere near finding a cure.

"It doesn't matter. We'll be back in New York soon enough." If he didn't talk about it then maybe he could slip away without an upsetting goodbye.

"Is it possible to refuel in Anchorage?" The plane ride seemed so long ago although it hadn't even been two days. He doubted that him flying and Clint sleeping would be quite as enjoyable and carefree as last time.

… …

Clint was too tired to argue and in his heart he knew he wouldn't be able to get far with Bruce. The man was as stubborn as the Hulk. At the moment Clint almost wished the green guy was with him. Hulk had direction, Bruce didn't.

Bruce terrified Clint. Natasha had told him Banner had admitted attempting to take his life. At least they all knew it hadn't worked. Still, Bruce was a scientist, he could find a way if he searched hard enough.

Barton would have to tell Tony to watch the lab's a bit closer.

Leaning his head back, Clint sighed and nodded. "Yeah, Anchorage. I have a contact there; I'll send a message to SHIELD and tell them...what happened. At least the basics. We can either wait there for extraction or try flying again. Depends, how I am."

It wasn't long before the archer fell into a much needed sleep. At first it was restful, but then it turned into a nightmare. He twitched slightly in his sleep, his mind filled with images of the histories that haunted him. Loki in his mind, blue eyes watching him in mirrors. His own arrows killing people he knew and liked.

The dark dream ended in a way that Clint couldn't have predicted. Bruce lying dead on the ground, arrow through his eyes. Green blood leaked out around the man's dead body. Why hadn't the Hulk saved him?

Clint woke with a quiet gasp and found himself lying on the ground, panting and drenched in sweat both from the dream and from his fever.

His dreams were always worse when he had a fever.

Closing his eyes only brought back the painful imagery so Clint kept them open and looked around the room. Hopefully this would be the last night they spent in this cold place.

… …

Bruce was woken when Clint began to thrash around. Carefully he tried to shake his friend awake without aggravating his wound.

"Hey, Clint come on, wake up." His voice had little effect until the archer practically threw himself onto the floor and woke up. Bruce gave him a second to get his mind together before placing a hand on his shoulder.

He didn't say anything because asking if Clint was okay was a daft question and nothing he could say would make the nightmares go away. Gently he wrapped the coat around the archer.

"That's it, we're out of here," Bruce told him. "I'm going to look for the plane. Stay here and try to keep warm." He spent a few minutes restarting the fire before pulling his coat around him as tightly as possible and leaving the hut.

His bare feet touched the snow and his whole body shook in protest at the frozen air. He ignored the fact that his hands and lower legs were blue, concentrating on retracing the huge track the other guy had made through the snow. It would be easier to go back to the lake, maybe find his clothes if he was lucky and then follow the tire tracks Brent's car had made the day before.

The summer sun, always out for the warmer months glared at him off the white crystals. He had no idea how far the other guy had travelled carrying Clint, no how far Brent had driven to the lake. Pretty soon it became clear that the other guy had merely wandered around, lost, for a time before spotting the shack. It also became apparent that the lake on which the boathouse had been built was not the same lake as the one they had been stuck on.

Bruce trudged on through the snow, gradually losing all feeling throughout his body. He realized that he should have thought to borrow Clint's boots; they weren't going to make much difference to the archer.

If it wasn't for the fact that Clint would die if he didn't get him out, Bruce would be pleased that the other guy showed no sign of helping him combat hypothermia. It would be easier to get the archer to the plane if the other guy was carrying him but Bruce didn't think that the beast could effectively get anywhere intentionally without hurting anyone.

He trudged on.

… …

Clint knew he shouldn't let Banner go off by himself, but there was no stopping the man. When the archer tried to follow his leg hadn't cooperated, stiff from the lack of movement.

"Damn it." Barton cursed under his heavy breath. He wasn't one to sit around and do nothing. He hated being injured, but there was nothing he could do to change that now. "Damn it." he repeated bitterly.

If only he was a super soldier like the captain, then he would be healed and could be of use. Hawkeye, however, had no super ability. He wasn't a God and didn't have a flashy suit to protect him from bullets. He was human.

Left alone Clint dwelled on the fact that he had somehow failed Bruce. Instead of helping the man overcome his crushing guilt he had fuelled it.

"Damn." He threw his head back roughly against the wall. This whole thing was a disaster.

… …

Bruce wasn't entirely sure how he had found the research facility but he chose not to dwell on it. Instead he moved around the perimeter until he spotted a large 4X4. He had had to borrow a car a few too many times in his life and getting the engine started without a key was not much of a problem.

Minutes later he was heading back towards the boathouse with the heater on maximum. Gradually his control of the pedals became slightly easier as he regained feeling in his limbs. Doubtless there would be repercussions because of the cold but long-term effects weren't really in the forefront of his mind. All he needed to do was get back to Clint.

"Clint?" he called so that he wouldn't surprise the assassin. The archer may be down but Bruce doubted that he was completely out. Now that he was no longer half-frozen Bruce could begin to think about exactly how badly his friend was going to come out of this. Frostbite could cost the archer a finger, which would be disastrous, not to mention the infection that was surely spreading up his leg. Once again the doctor cursed himself for getting him into such as mess.

"I found a car; we can get to the plane."

… …

Clint didn't stir when Bruce opened the door, or even at the sound of his name. At some point the raging fever and blood loss took over, the darkness took over.

It was a sluggish return to consciousness, but the doc finally pulled Barton from the safety of sleep. The pain was instant causing an unchecked groan to escape from the back of his throat. Blinking at the blur, Clint stared at Bruce, not processes what the man had said at first.

Slowly Clint realized they had a truck. Good, hopefully it had heat. Soon they'd be back in the mansion. There was something important, something Clint knew he needed to tell Tony when they got back, what was it?

Silently the archer struggled to stand by his own will power, his mind still focused on remembering the important thing.

… …

Bruce did his best to lift Clint up without hurting him too much. If the groan was anything to go by he hadn't done a very good job. That just added to the growing list of times he had hurt the archer in the last two days. With a bit of careful manoeuvring he got Clint out of the shack and into the back seat, lying him down gently.

"We'll be back on the plane soon, then in Anchorage before long," he told him, uncertain of how much Clint could hear. Bruce didn't really want to think about how little idea he had of getting the plane in the air without the assassin helping him. He hoped it was as simple as pressing the button marked take-off but strongly doubted it.

Stopping the truck behind one of the log cabins, Bruce was grateful that despite the constant sunlight it was in fact only four in the morning and he doubted that many astrophysicists were early risers. Sure they stayed up late to see the stars but no one in their right mind was up at four am. Deduction deduced that neither Bruce nor Clint were in their right minds.

"Clint? I'm going to carry you over to the plane, okay? You're going to have to give me that flying lesson in a minute." With a grunt he hoisted the archer into a lop-sided fireman's lift and staggered towards the plane. For a small guy Clint was heavy.

… …

One minute he was alone in a cabin, the next he was being carried somewhere, through somewhere cold. "Bruce?" he muttered, realizing his 'captor' before he took action. "Put me down, I can walk." Of course that was probably a lie, his leg felt like it was on fire while the rest of him was so numb he could barely feel.

He did feel nauseous, and the threat of him losing whatever was in his stomach was enough for him to squirm. Thankfully they had reached the hanger by then.

When Bruce finally set him down Barton promptly turned his head and threw up, coughing and gagging for a good minute before he felt well enough to attempt moving again.

"Well that was, less than pleasant." He sighed and glanced around with renewed clarity. Deciding not to mention that he had no idea how they got there, Clint glanced at the plane and motioned for Bruce to help him inside.

Settling in the pilot seat he motioned silently for Bruce to sit in the co-pilot chair. "I-I'll get u-us up in the air." Clint spoke through chattering teeth. It was warmer; his body was adjusting to the change in temperature. "You'll h-have to take o-over from there."

Clint was exhausted, the feeling when right down to his bones. He just needed to stay awake long enough to get them up in the air. With a long blink Clint refocused on flipping the right switches. Normally he'd go through the checklist three times before flight, but getting through it once felt impossible enough.

… …

Bruce watched what Clint was doing more attentively than he had before, making note of everything he did. He was also running through everything the archer had told him when he had briefly let him take over on the way out. He didn't know how best to help, he had no idea which button should be pressed next.

Eventually the engines started and the plane began to move. Bruce found a bottle of water, which he made sure was water, and handed it to Clint. They were on the runway, speeding up, when the radio made a noise.

"You don't have clearance, Banner," Brent's voice echoed out, chilling his already cold blood.

"Going to fly your friend's body home for the funeral or is there not enough of him left to bury? My promise holds, you know. One day you'll look over your shoulder and I'll be there, right in the middle of the crowd." The line went dead, the silence was as deafening as if Brent had yelled at them. Bruce barely noticed when they left the ground, too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

Brent knew that he had gotten away.

He was going to hunt him down.

Bruce had been hunted before; he still woke in a panic whenever he heard a knock at the door only to find that it was just Tony with an idea that couldn't wait until morning. Brent had known that he was in New York; he had managed to contact him. Bruce couldn't stay there, he had to go somewhere he couldn't be found.

He took over the controls after wrapping a blanket around Clint's shoulders.

"Next stop: Anchorage," he said lightly, not letting his panic at being once again alone at the controls into his voice. "Right, keep it straight and head south. Ah, autopilot thing. Great. Coordinates, um."

… …

At the sudden sound of Brent's voice Clint tensed his hands on the controls of the plane. Brent thought he was dead, presumably because the odds of him surviving hadn't been great. Hell, Clint was very aware he still might not survive his injuries. If he did live, however, the archer would make sure Brent knew what fear felt like before he died.

Clint didn't speak again, mostly because it felt pointless. He didn't have Natasha's charm; he couldn't twist someone's mind and make them see her way. Bruce was stuck in a deep hole of self-hatred and Barton knew he wasn't going to be the one who fixed the man. Barton just didn't have the words.

Tony might be able to save the doctor. He'd read the billionaire into the mission when they got back.

"I trust you." Clint told Bruce when he heard the doctor mumbling about flying. The archer's eyes slid closed and drifted off into a fever induced rest.

… …

Bruce turned around to stare at him when he heard what Clint had said. He trusted him. Well Bruce had already decided that Clint was an idiot for sticking around him, that so much had been evident when he stayed with him in the alley after the bar fight and didn't fret about the other guy coming out all the time.

"Good to know one of us does," he muttered. After a brief moment of confusion he got them on a course for Anchorage. Wherever he ended up he would make sure that he took flying lessons in the near future. Going on the run had forced him to learn to sail, speak several languages and hunt livestock, learning to fly seemed almost optional.

Eventually he had to try the radio and talk to someone on the ground. Tony had rambled on about SHIELD frequencies before so he knew how to get a direct line to the organization.

"Um, hello? My name is Doctor Bruce Banner, I, uh, I'm in a plane with Agent Barton on our way to Anchorage. He's down but not out." Bruce tried to talk in the same terms Clint used. "And, well I don't know how to land this thing." There was the briefest pause before the line clicked and a rather angry female voice rang out.

"What the hell is going on, Bruce?" He had never been so relieved to hear Natasha's voice, even if she was pissed off with him.

… …

Natasha was pissed, not in a small way, but a very big way. When she got back to the tower after her mission she went in search for her hawk. Tony informed her that Clint had gone into hiding and was impossible to find. Director Fury informed her Banner and Barton had gone on a trip.

Natasha had requested Hill forward any calls from Barton directly to her cell. So when it rang and Bruce's voice spoke on the other end the redhead lost it.

"What the hell is going on, Bruce?" She demanded. "What do you mean, Barton's down. I was told you guys were at a science facility!" How the hell could they attract trouble out in the middle of freaking nowhere? It was unbelievable! "What's wrong with Clint? Why is he unable to fly?"

Of course Clint would be unconscious; Natasha just hoped it wasn't serious. Although if Clint was allowing someone untrained to fly she doubted things were anywhere close to being okay.

… …

Bruce had not expected Natasha to answer although now that he thought about it, saying Clint's name into the radio was probable the quickest way to talk to her.

"He's unconscious right now. He got shot in the leg, there's an infection and he's still recovering from hypothermia." May as well get all of the bad news out of the way quickly.

"It's a long story, Natasha and we don't really have time to go through it right now. Clint needs medical attention which I don't have the resources on board to give him. Tell me how to land and I'll explain what happened once I've made sure that Clint is going to be okay." He hadn't meant to sound so harsh and unfeeling with her, he knew that she was as frantic with worry as it was possible for an unemotional spy to be.

Debriefing Natasha wasn't a priority, getting Clint to a hospital was.

He listened to the instructions that came back to him in a cold, annoyed tone and followed the landing procedure. It was bumpy but they didn't crash. He guessed that he was glad Natasha was in New York, or else he would probably be in need of medical attention too.

… …

Things moved pretty quickly after Bruce managed to land the plane. A SHIELD issued plane had been at the airport in Anchorage and had been prepped as soon as Natasha radioed in that an injured SHIELD agent was about to touch down in a plane.

Medical personnel swarmed the archer, cutting him off from Bruce. Barton didn't stir or show any signs of waking as he was moved from one plane to the other.

It was a full week before he regained consciousness.

Natasha pointedly gave Bruce a cold shoulder once he had given her and the rest of the Avengers a rundown of what had happened.

Tony stayed close to Banner's side, offering support in his teasing nature, making sure Bruce didn't do something that they'd all regret later.

… …

Bruce didn't leave his lab for a long time, long after Clint had woken up. He didn't visit the infirmary; Natasha had made it pretty clear that he wasn't particularly wanted there.

Instead he sorted out his papers and found something he had almost thrown out a long time ago. It was simple, really.

"Iodine," he murmured to himself. "Well, it was radiation after all."

A simple solution. He got back to work.

… …

**Thanks for reading, reviews are love **


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